


dulcet

by miilkteas



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shops, Fluff, Jumin hates frappes, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miilkteas/pseuds/miilkteas
Summary: in which jumin hates frappes and zen can't spell. [ coffee shop au ]





	dulcet

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't able to post anything in may, so expect another one shot coming your way this month! hope you guys enjoy. xx

Jumin hated people getting his name wrong, and he especially hated that attractive barista that  _ purposely _ got his name wrong. 

He was on his merry way to work one morning when he spotted the newly opened coffee shop— _Rika’s Coffee House_. Jumin was feeling particularly kind that morning, so he decided to head inside and perhaps leave a promising review if the coffee was better than one’s average Starbucks. (This was perhaps the most generous thing he’s ever done, given that _commoner_ coffee shops never made it far.)  

The interior was certainly lavish—the young heir couldn’t help but admire how expensive-looking everything was. With a small (and admittedly rare) smile, he strode over to the counter, where his eyes were immediately blessed.

_ He was a sin. _

It was the only thing Jumin could think of as he blinked once, twice. The barista before him was an albino, with the most luxurious white hair (even better than Elizabeth 3rd!) He was absolutely disgusted with himself--no one was better than Elizabeth the 3rd, not even the beautiful man before him. 

“Are you not going to order?” he drawled, snapping Jumin out of his thoughts.

Jumin did the thing he did best: get defensive. “O-of course I am,” he snapped, shoving his hands into his pocket to retrieve his wallet. His name was  _ Zen _ , according to the nametag. 

Zen didn’t seem very fazed by his sudden outburst. His voice was velvet, and Jumin hated himself for noticing such things. “Well then. What do you want? Here at the RCH, we donate a portion of our profits to a charity that our customers vote on, you know.”

“That’s nice,” he said gruffly, deciding to order the first thing that he saw on the menu. “I’ll have a tall green tea frappe and a um, croissant.” 

He hummed in amusement. “Didn’t peg you for a frappe boy. And your name?”

Curse his beautiful, sugary sweet voice. He absolutely  _ hated _ frappes. “Jumin.”

“That’ll be seven thousand won,” Zen said cheerfully. 

Disgusted, Jumin turned his back on Zen after paying. Frappe boy his ass. It was absolutely shameful to even think of himself as a frappe boy, and he sulked in a secluded booth for the longest time—his personal assistant Jaehee probably didn’t appreciate how late he was being, but he could afford to show up late. 

“I have a tall green tea frappe and a croissant for uh—who the fuck has such  _ ugly _ handwriting—Jimin!” 

Well that certainly wasn’t his name.

It took Jumin several seconds to realize that it was his order that the barista was calling out—blast that stupid Zen, he had perfect enunciation when he told him his name was Jumin. With several grumbles, he took his food from the blond worker and hurried out of the little shop (but not without a final glance at that sinful albino by the counter.)

He’d come back to that place until Zen got his name right.

Jumin returned to the shop three days later—Jaehee had unfortunately done her job too well and kept him booked with meeting after meeting. He had gotten off a long day of work, and he was craving something dark and bitter (just like his soul.) This time, he would not screw up and order an unbelievably sweet blend of diabetes and a heart attack. 

_ THERE HE WAS, THERE HE WAS, OH MY MOTHER OF— _

Curse that glorious barista, he looked finer than ever. Jumin had to remind himself that he was there to make sure Zen got his name right for once and for all. The shop was slightly emptier than the last time he was there. Surely with less chatter in the air, Zen would be able to get his name right.

“There’s my favorite frappe boy,” he greeted enthusiastically when he got within ten feet of the counter. Jumin scowled, suddenly reminiscing how horribly sugary his green tea frappe was. “The frappe wasn’t your cup of tea? Or should I say cup of coffee?”

Well  _ someone _ was certainly chipper. 

“I just want an espresso,” he snarled, hastily slamming ten thousand won onto the counter. It simply wasn’t fair that Zen of all people was there, and it drove him absolutely insane. “And I’ll have it to-go, thank you very much.”

He let out a low whistle, amused by how his order had changed from teenage girl to overworked dad in a span of several days. With a small smirk he asked, “Your name?”

“Jumin. J-U-M-I-N,” he said slowly as if Zen were a kindergartener incapable of spelling even the most simple of things.  _ Please get it right, please get it right— _

Before he could check to see if his name was spelled correctly, Zen had already whisked the flimsy paper cup away. Jumin was left to stare at the expensive decor, contemplating if he should vote on which charity the coffee shop would donate to the following month. Several minutes went by, with two other customers stopping in before his espresso was ready.

“I have an espresso for Juman!”  

This time, the barista calling what was supposed to be his name had thick, striped glasses, and prominent red hair. He looked rather perplexed—who would name a Korean kid Juman of all things—but called out whatever was on the cup anyways. Since there was practically no one else in the shop, Jumin assumed that was his drink and took it rather grumpily.

He would try again tomorrow morning. 

The following morning, Jumin decided that today was the day—his time at Rika’s Coffee House would come to an end when that hot piece of ass he called a barista finally got his name right. Surely he had spelled it wrong on purpose yesterday, or perhaps he had very bad hearing and missed the part where he spelled out his name letter by letter.

When he entered, the bell jingled merrily as usual. It was busy, with people of all walks of life having some caffeine and waiting patiently in line. That little blond barista was working again, and of course Zen was cheerily manning the cashier like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

“Frappe boy! You’re back,” he said happily, causing his fellow barista to snicker loudly before hastily trying to disguise it with an indiscreet cough. “What can I get for my favorite customer today?”

“Hazelnut americano,” Jumin said quickly, extracting his wallet from his pocket. “And please get my name right, third time’s the charm right…?” 

Zen more or less ignored his second comment, already scribbling his order on a cup. He took his money without even asking for his name, and Jumin victoriously assumed that the devil finally got his name correctly. He did a most unprofessional fist pump before patiently waiting for his drink. 

“I have a hazelnut americano for Jamin!”

_ Well shit. _

Jumin was so sure that Zen had gotten his name right this time—this was the third time, surely he was just messing with him. He drank his coffee a little too aggressively, swearing on Elizabeth 3rd that he would make sure Zen got his name right. Quickly flushing a fantastic red once he realized people were staring at him, Jumin decided that enough was enough. He went to work rather gruffly, and his annoyance did not go amiss by his employees. 

It would be another seventeen visits before Zen got his name right.

He had to get creative (Gumin was one of the funnier ones he came up with), but it only frustrated Jumin more and more as he came to the solid conclusion that Zen truly was messing with him. However, he couldn’t exactly call him out on it and make a scene—this had to be done sneakily. The twentieth time Jumin entered Rika’s Coffee House, he inhaled a deep breath and stomped his way up to the counter.

“Zen.”

His scarlet eyes stared back, lighting up in amusement. “Jumin—I mean uh, frappe boy—oh screw that, what can I do for you today?”

So he knew his name after all this time (typically, Jumin was greeted as ‘frappe boy.’) He couldn’t decide whether to laugh it off or angrily accuse him of purposely screwing up his name. Feigning interest in the menu that he had memorized long ago, Jumin hummed to himself, his eyebrows scrunched up in what appeared to be a mixture of frustration and confusion. 

“How about a tall green tea frappe?” 

Zen beamed brightly. “I’d thought you’d never ask! This one’s on me.” He scribbled on the cup almost enthusiastically, practically skipping away to prepare his order instead of passing it on to someone else. Jumin was fairly perplexed himself, but seeing Zen so peppy made him smile too. 

To others, it was more of a grimace than a smile, but inside Jumin was more ecstatic than anything. He knew his name! While it did take twenty visits, his persistence paid off (oh Jumin, always the pompous businessman.) Jumin was beginning to doze off when Zen suddenly appeared in front of him, frappe in hand. 

“Have a good day,” he said in what appeared to be a sheepish manner. Quickly, Zen scurried back behind the counter like nothing had ever happened. Jumin looked triumphantly at the cup, and lo and behold, his name was spelled perfectly. J-U-M-I-N. He could have just sat there and cried happy tears for the rest of the day, but he quickly remembered that he had a job—Jaehee always expressed her dislike for rescheduling his meetings.  

Best yet, under his perfectly spelled, glorious name was a phone number. Perhaps he would continue coming into this coffee shop after all.


End file.
